


Oswald's Lady

by GGHalcyon (gqepicentre)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gotham Season 1, Gotham Season 2, Oswald Cobblepot - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 05:18:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15135974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gqepicentre/pseuds/GGHalcyon
Summary: [HAITUS] OSWALD/OC. This is story of how Oswald left Gotham after being left for dead and the woman who saves him. (Season 1)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: This takes place right after Oswald is "killed" by Gordon and follows his journey out of Gotham. Ruby Nyx, Sister Lucy, and any characters not part of the Gotham TV Series were created by and belong to me, as is this storyline. I do not own Gotham (TV Series). This is not for profit, and is a work of fan fiction. The first chapter was written on 01/30/2015. Author: Eiri Lain AKA GQ Epicentre AKA G.G. Halcyon

PROLOGUE

Life is peculiar in the ways that it forces souls to encounter one another in the most hideous of lights. It's filled with catalysts so cruel...catalysts that work to strangle you until you gasp for air and awaken to the reality that you really want to be alive...that you are hungry to be alive...

You see, a gun to the head makes any man the wiser and shaken to the importance of living.

An encounter with a woman who sees through your gloom, through your pitted dark soul, and accept in her heart the monster that you are... well, that is like drinking from the fountain of life, far more stronger than any near-death experience. It is an elixir so powerful that it courses through your veins, making you see a future away from this wretched place... it is love, it is acceptance... it is not at all what I felt with Fish Mooney.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER ONE

Oswald Cobblepott was a man with the proper level of sociopathic tendencies that merited his success for survival. He was shrewd, intellectual and calculating by nature, and for this reason he was not surprise that he was still alive and breathing. Detective Gordon spared his life after all. It was exactly as Oswald expected; it was the outcome that he envisioned.

It came to no surprise to Oswald as he remembered the barrel of the gun pressed to his head, and its firing sound piercing his ears as it missed him with intention. It had only been two hours prior, and the near-death incident still flashed in his mind vividly. He had begged for his life by ever-so-greatly playing the coward, the poor and weak simpleton that they expected him to be. Not even for a split second did Oswald doubt the success of that very moment's outcome, and he smiled almost in glee at the very idea that he survived.

Oswald Cobblepott was a survivor.

He plunged into the cold waters of the bay and re-emerged from its depths a cast-out man, with no choice but to leave Gotham. He swam onto the shore, and without a second thought murdered a homeless man for his supplies.

He looted the old man's body, took his dried clothes, his food, and other useful supplies, and watched in respectable silence and contemplation as the man's body sank into the depths of the bay. It was just another worthless scum of Gotham that others wouldn't miss.

He was certain if he hadn't killed the man, another would have. That is how it always is, he thought to himself. Kill or be killed, or learn to play dead.

When the old man's body disappeared from his sight, he continued his journey to leave the home he knew.

.

.

To anyone else the day would have been the worst of their lives. It was day so dreary and so inconceivably horrid that one would wonder how else to continue living. To be a man forced – or better yet – 'killed' and banished from his home (a home where if found he would yet again be killed) – would be no dream or consolation to anyone.

It was also not a source of inspiration for a man bereft of all that he'd worked for – his reputation, his status, and the boss lady he'd worked for. No, no... To any man, this would have been the day they'd rather have died. This would have been a day shrouded in fear and an immobilizing realization that death may have been a better resolved.

But he was no 'other man'.

To Oswald Cobblepott, this was one of the greatest days of his life. It was a brilliant gift that only surmounted to improve his ego. It confirmed his proof that he in fact was a man of brilliant caliber; that he was a man who knew full well how to read people, how to manipulate, and still survive at the hindrances life threw his way.

This was a him true and true.

The joy he felt from this affirmation helped diminish the strong pain that emanated and throbbed from his leg as he wobbled on. He had grabbed a nearby fallen branch on his venture that assisted him in walking, although this did not help ease the pain...but again he had the uncanny ability to thread forward in his flee until he found himself venturing into the 'Underworld', the mazes of underground tunnels and sewers deep bellow Gotham.

He threaded forward pass the entrance of the tunnels hidden beneath an abandoned bridge which had once been a popular route into the city. Since the restructuring and rebuild of Gotham's freeways, the bridge was closed and awaited demolishment. Thus, the location of the entrance was in an area abandoned and fenced away from the main city center, and was close to the manufacturing areas of Northern Gotham.

Once he entered, Oswald was thankful that it was still light outside, for he doubted he'd find the entrance in the darkness. He was also further thankful for the thorough investigation he gave the homeless man he encountered, for on that old man he found a switch blade, matches, and a tiny flashlight the size of his palm. All of this Oswald kept in the pockets of the stolen jacket he wore.

With one hand holding tightly on his makeshift walking stick, and the other grasping the lit flashlight, Oswald trekked deeper into the tunnels, unsure of where it would take him, but certain it was the proper way to leave Gotham undetected.

For a brief moment he stopped and turned around and noted the faint circle of the light at the entrance of the tunnel, which appeared very far from where he now stood. There was no turning back now, and Oswald knew that if he walked further, he would soon no longer see that entrance, and would be fully at the mercy of the Underworld, a place he was so unfamiliar with. He prayed he could easily maneuver out of such unfamiliar territory.

.

.

.

He must have been walking for a few hours down the same long tunnel and was surprised that he met no one else in his path, except the rats that would periodically scowler pass him to and forth. The underground tunnels were damp and cold, and smelled of a stench all too putrid that Oswald was grateful for his nose becoming accustomed to it until he no longer smell.

He walked the same tunnel for so long, and had yet to come face to face with other paths to converging tunnels, that he almost wondered if perhaps the path out of Gotham was truly as simple as a one-path straight-forward route.

This was proven wrong however, when finally his light shown on a fork on his trail. The tunnel now split between the right and the left path. The right tunnel was blocked by heavy bars running from the top of the ceiling and into the bottom. A sign to the left of the tunnel indicated that it led towards the center of Gotham, near the trains. The left path showed no signs near it and at no other choice, Oswald trekked through, his flashlight still shining towards him, his walk slow and steady, although still limped from his injury.

As he walked more, in the darkness, he finally heard her. Her scream echoed in the tunnels—and he heard a sound of struggle, two men's rough voices, and he stopped in his tracks immediately and turned off his flashlight. It was now clear that he was no longer alone in the Underworld, and it was inevitable that he would soon enough come face to face with others like himself who were dwelling in the tunnels, and no doubt planned to do unspeakable things.

Oswald realized as he heard distinct sounds of struggle, not too far from him, perhaps several yards away. The sounds came from another tunnel entrance that crossed the path he was on. He had two choices, he realized. He could carefully and quietly sneak pass the people in the adjoining tunnel and hope that he remains unseen and continue on his way, in hopes that it was the proper way out of Gotham. Or he could decide to somehow con his way, or better yet take on the woman's accusers and perhaps take their money, and resources. He was a great man with a knife, even in his injured state and doubted that the people he would encounter were other homeless or vagrants as easily killed as the first one he encountered near the bay.

Covered in the darkness that surrounded him, Oswald used the tunnel walls to guide him, as well as the faint light from a tunnel entrance. He could still hear the woman yelling and struggling to remove her attackers from her. He stopped again, against the tunnel wall, knowing full well that at one turn he would come face to face with the scenario. His leg was throbbing more painfully now, and he was certain that the blood drenched the bottom of his pants, and the makeshift tourniquet he tied around it. He set his walking stick against the tunnel wall gently, and slowly leaned forward in anguish to untie and then retie the blood soaked tourniquet on his leg so that he would lose no more blood.

Focus on his resolved, he peered slightly from his position, taking sight of the scenario before him. Two flashlights sat on the ground and illuminated the struggles of a young woman—perhaps similar to his age—as two men in suits made it their goal to threaten her and use her for their wiles.

The sight of such occurrence did not surprise her. Oswald, having worked under Fish Mooney's guidance and in her posse in her 'district' was all too familiar with the sightings of women taking advantage of, or handled roughly by mafia men. He himself, was never one to find pleasure in doing so, but he would not lie if asked if he never stood as a spectator and watched, mainly out of necessity to be accepted by his fellow colleagues, although the very idea of taking advantage of helpless women by force always appalled and sickened him.

What surprised him was the fact that deep in the tunnels he saw two men who appeared to wear the suitings of what could be Maroni's men or at least men from the Fish District. Their suits were black in the limited light, their dark hair slick back, and their speech reminisce of what appeared to be an Italian-like accent.

Oswald expected to see homeless men and a raged vagrant woman, but not the sight that behold him. He observed the situation, his eyes taking in the full picture, and then focusing on the woman in question, as one of the men held her back to him, and the other leering into her face, all before slapping her hard on her left cheek.

At first glance—or perhaps if viewed by one not familiar with the call girls and tricks of Gotham—one would think the woman was just another trick with bad luck, having landed in the hands of the wrong men for the night, who were more interested in doing harm than using her for a night of simple pleasure. No, Oswald thought, she didn't look it at all.

Her dark long hair was tied in a high ponytail and swayed as she was slapped once more on light mocha colored skin which appeared bereft of any bruises prior to their administrations. She wore tight fitting dark blue jeans and knee length brown riding boots. She wore a loose plain white t-shirt, ripped now at the collar and blood stained, exposing the excessive rise and fall of her breast in a dark green lace bra.

She didn't look like a trick at all, and for a moment he wondered what she had done to warrant the Maroni's men, and he wondered to himself why it even bothered. He stood in the darkness and listened, as he watched them, waiting for an opportune time to appear.

Oswald thought that perhaps his best course of action was to wait for them to finish with the woman. 'Perhaps they'll kill her first,' he thought, thinking that his best course may be to allow them to finish their task, leaving him with only 2 bodies to dispose off afterwards. Then again, this thought unfortunately did not bring about such levity in his spirit, as he looked on again and watched as the woman struggled and fault with all her might.

For a moment a nagging feeling enveloped his chest. Was it pity? Was it empathy for the woman's ill fate? Oswald brushed the thought aside. He was a man that had only one goal and that is to take care of himself and to disappear as he planned. He was not a man to be a savior, especially if it was to save a woman who perhaps made the wrong life choices to be led to her current situation. Oswald learned so quickly that people were not always as they seemed, and he would wager that the woman was not an innocent as she would appear.

.

.

.

"She fucking tried to claw my eyes out!"

Ruby struggled with all her might to get out of the hold one of the men had on her. She couldn't' give up, she had to fight or else she was no better off than dead.

"Get off me, you bastards!" She spat on the face of the man in front of her.

And he slapped her hard, causing blood to splatter from the corner of her lips.

Ruby looked up at her accuser, as his partner held her against his chest, her arms held tightly behind her. She continued to struggled, but was forcibly stopped as her accuser grabbed her face to look at her.

"Tony, you better get this bitch settled." The voice behind her said, tightening his grip on her hands to an excruciating hold.

'Tony' hardened his grasp of her face, until his fingers were digging deep on her cheeks and Ruby had no choice but to meet his angry and manic eyes.

"You thought you could hide from us bitch?"

"F – mp Y-mp.." Ruby's voice was muffled as she sneered at him, she struggled again and tried to knee him. Tony released her face and took a step back to admire his handiwork. The woman had spunk, he gave her that, noting the many bruises appearing at her arms, legs, and the blood drawing from her nose and lips. They knocked her around pretty good, but she was still adamant that she'd stand her ground. 'Well, this bitch has it coming,' he thought sickly as he took out his gun.

Ruby stopped in her struggles and stared at the barrel of the gun, pointed directly at her.

"Yeah, Tony, show her how it's done. That shut her up!"

"Shut up, Roe!" Tony spat, running a hand through his dark hair, stepping closer now, until the gun was placed at Ruby's forehead.

"So... what was that you was saying, sweetheart?" he sneered, his one hand running a trail from her bruised cheek and slowly down into the valley of her exposed breast. Ruby shrugged his hand away as best she could, but he did nothing but roughly grasp her left breast, squeezing harshly before letting go.

"You was saying 'Fuck you'? To me? Right?"

Ruby said nothing, her heart racing within her chest. Was this how she was going to die? At the hands of these crooks who found her in her attempts to hide from their boss. What were they going to do once they had their way with her and kill her? What would they say to their boss Kingsley? That they never found her, or that she fell under the hands of some vagrant in the tunnels? Would anyone even find her in these tunnels? She thought.

"Well look, Tony, she ain't saying shit now," Roe laughed crudely in her ears.

"Well, we'll see what noises are going to be coming out of these sweet lips when we're done with her." Tony ran the barrel of the gun slowly over her lips.

"Please..." Ruby pleaded, knowing full well it wouldn't do anything. She hated herself for doing so, but the words came from her very lips as she shivered in fear—her traitorous body—knowing full well that her mind had accepted her impending demise. "Please...don't...I'll go back."

"Too late, darling," Tony sheathed back his gun on his back pocket. "We're going to have ourselves some fun here—Roe and I—then maybe, just maybe, if you were kind we'd actually take you back to Kingsley."

"Please don't..." She pleaded. She knew by the look in his eyes what he planned to do. They were going to rape her then and there, in the Underworld, where no one could hear her scream or struggle, a place where no one would find her body if they killed her—which she was certain they would. Their boss Kingsley wasn't one to take kindly on his men taking advantage of his chosen 'pets'... then again, Ruby was certain that of all his chosen playthings she was the first to ever escape long before he had his way with them, she was the only one who was able to run away—or so she thought.

Roe grabbed her and spun her around until he faced her, her hands lose, she pushed against his chest before he could lower his head to lick and kiss her neck, but as she as she did so, her hands were grabbed once more by Tony, who this time used his loose tie to tightly bound her hands behind her.

"Not that easy, bitch!" Roe said slapping her once more until she was released from Tony's grasp and fell back on the solid wet ground of the tunnel, her hand tied behind her.

Both men loomed over her, laughing heartily at their handiwork. She looked around her in search of anything to hit them with, but found that there was nothing in sight. She inched herself backwards. She forced herself to hold her dignity, to not give them the pleasure of seeing her cry, or beg again for her life...and yet the tears fell from her eyes, and this seemed to bring amount more levity to the men in front of her.

"Roe, hold her steady. I'll go first."

Roe did as told and knelt behind Ruby. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her roughly back, until her back was to the solid wet ground and she was laying back. She screamed and cursed and struggled, but Roe held on tightly to her shoulders.

Tony stood towering over her, his teeth gleaming white with his large maniacal smile as she slowly watch her eyes widen as he unzipped his pants.

"Yes, bitch, I am going to have so much fun with you." He knelt before her, his hands grabbing at her legs as Ruby fault kicking and screaming but to no avail as he successfully forced her shoes off and then her jeans until she laid their exposed in her green underwear.

Ruby thought she was going to be sick, her throat hurt from her screams and yet she continued to scream until her voice was so hoarse. Tony slowly rubbed the tip of his cock teasingly on the sides of her thigh, and Ruby looked up at the sight of Roe grinning at her in the same evil way.

Ruby at that moment prayed that she had died already instead of what was to await her. Tony's hands grabbed the edges of her underwear and slowly pulled it down. Ruby closed her eyes tightly biting away the tears that fell down her cheeks, the taste first salty. Tony and Roe's words of belittlement and crassness fading into muffled sounds, as she felt was she about to pass out, and then just as she was about to fade away, she felt the hold on her shoulder disappeared, and she felt the scrambling back of Tony away from her.

"What the fuck!?" She heard Tony's voice.

Opening her eyes slowly she saw the wide eyes of Roe looking down at her, his eyes looked onward and lifeless. She felt a droplet slowly fall on her cheek, and noted the metallic taste and after blinking her eyes several times noted that it was not her tears, but blood. Struggling along to move herself, she looked up and saw Roe had a line of red across his neck, where blood slowly oozed and for a moment Ruby wondered if this was a dream, and wondered who would have killed him.

Her hearing coming back to her as she painfully and slowly rolled herself over. She saw in the walls the shadows that played and the sound of Tony speaking to someone. She didn't know what transpired, her eyes still blurry. She blinked again, this time as if cold water splashed her to her senses she found the strength to pull herself up, and with much success untying her hands from the bound that had gotten loose. Her hands free she inched close to the dead body of Roe, searching for a gun she was certain he kept in his pocket.

Finding it, she scaled the fall, towards the noise of struggle. She heard Tony yelling at someone unknown at another section of the tunnel, the pathway that they had initially come from.

"Who the fuck are you?" Tony yelled in the darkness, shooting several shots, the gun fire briefly illuminating the tunnel. He saw the man in question, slopped against the tunnel wall, and he ran towards him.

Ruby knew that Tony was going to kill her savior, if he was not dead already.

"Wait!" Her voice echoed in the darkness and halted Tony's trek. He turned to her, at the sound of her voice and saw the faint light from the other tunnel illuminate her from the back.

Ruby stood, her gun drawn and without a second thought fired on. The gun shots several times firing onto Tony's body until his body fell into the ground with a splash from the water on the tunnel entrance.

Ruby stood motionless for a moment, her gun still held up and steady until it shook and she dropped her gun. She crumbled to the ground and she found herself crying loudly, the thought that her savior—whoever he was—was far dead and gone, and that of all things she had been saved from what she had thought would be her end.

.

.

.

Oswald stood motionless against the tunnel wall, covered in the darkness. His breath was heavy, his heart pounding in his chest. What led him to save the woman was nothing at all but an act for him to obtain the resources he needed. He did not, however, counter the fact that his ability to kill with his knife was not as fast as he had hoped due to his current injury. That, he thought, was something that he was still needing to accustom to. While his mind remained sharp, his body had yet to obtain the proper rest needed, as he was one to have loss a lot of blood.

His body weak, he slowly crumbled to the wet floor, his legs splayed in front of him. His eyes caught the sight of the woman as she stood, first holding tightly to the gun that shot her killer (and in term saving him as well), and then crumbling to the floor in tears. He was certain that she had all very well thought that today was the day that she was to die, unknown to her that her very savior had also such a very similar near-death experience.

How interesting, Oswald thought, a wry smile in his lips. This time his head began to feel a bit dizzy, and he blinked his eyes to keep them open. Perhaps he was to die in the very ratchet tunnels, right after doing a good deed. He was certain his mother would be proud of her Ozzy after all. And in return he would still instill in Gordon the fear that he was still out there somewhere, planning to return to Gotham, when in fact his body was left forgotten in the realms of the Underworld... So perhaps after all, Oswald would die the winner.

The thought made him laugh, and the sound came from his lips until his slight snickering turned into a cough. And of course, the woman heard him from her stance. He watched her get up from her stance.

"Are you there?" she called out loud. "Are—are you okay?"

Oswald was growing weary now.

He watched as her shadow dissipated into the entrance of the other tunnel, where the light came from and she returned with a flashlight as she shown in towards his direction. Finally it fell on him, his eyes closed now and yet he felt the warmed of the flashlight over his cool flesh.

He heard her footsteps towards him and lastly he saw the mix of emotion—fear, concern, confusion, gratitude—flash before her green eyes—or were they gray?-before the darkness overtook him and Oswald Cobblepot fell into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please review to let me know what you think of this chapter. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 2

Through hazy eyes, Oswald found himself teetering back and forth from dream to reality. At one point he felt his body being moved, his arms wrapped around the neck of his rescuer. His feet dragged on the floor as his body felt numb and his head was dizzy. He then felt himself being laid down again, this time on a dryer part of the ground. His head rested on what felt like the bundled softness of a heavy coat. A woman's voice spoke to him, but faded as he lost the battle and drifted off again into the darkness.

Moments later his eyes opened and were greeted by the faint illumination of the tunnel ceiling. A sound of movement drew his attention. Gingerly he turned his body over its direction and tried to ignore the pain and fatigue that coursed through him. He blinked his eyes several times to make out the source of the sound. What greeted him was the image of the woman he saved. She was quickly and roughly searching the dead body of one of her deceased tormentors.

With a loud grunt, she turned the body over, her face showing signs of pain. He could tell by the bruises on her arms and face that any movement was not the most pleasant a task as any. Turning the dead body of 'Roe' over, she crouched down and removed his suit jacket, and then, to his surprise, she began to undress the body. He watched as her hands shook as one by one she unbuttoned the man's shirt and then removed it.

Oswald watched in curiosity as the woman stood up slowly, the jacket and the black button down shirt in hand. She laid the jacket and shirt on the corner next to her, in the driest part of the floor. She then slowly took off her ripped-up white t-shirt, until she wore only her ivy green laced bra.

The bruises were dark, especially near her ribs. He saw traces of blood near the valley of her breasts where a knife had been placed. He watched unblinking as she cursed under her breath and slipped on the black button-down shirt to cover her body.

The shirt was all too big for her petite frame and fell well pass her knees. She must have been a head shorter than him, he thought. He watched as she then pulled on the dark brown jacket over her shivering body.

The woman fumbled hurriedly with the pockets in earnest searching. He saw the look of relief in her eyes as she found a wallet filled with cash, a lighter, remaining bullets for the 9 millimeter gun, and a set of keys to what could possibly be to the car of the two men.

"The gods must be watching me," he heard her say out loud, her hand tightened its hold on the keys.

And then as if sensing his awakened presence, her eyes looked up and met his. Oswald's gray eyes clashed with piercing green eyes filled with surprise.

Had she thought him dead?

Oswald tried to get up as she approached him, but was stopped gently by her hand on his chest, as she knelt next to him. She studied him closely, taking note of his condition, and the frown etched on his brow as he looked at her.

His eyes fixed on her lips as they moved in speech, yet his mind in its haze did not fully register her words. He was certain she had told him to remain steady. And when her supple lips stopped their movement, he looked up at her and then at the hand that rested against him. He said nothing to her, and she remained quiet, her brow etched in what appeared to be worry and relief.

Oswald tried to move once again and this time she does not stop him. He slowly adjusted himself until he was seated with his back leaning against the cold walls. The very motion felt like a long tenuous exercise, as every movement caused sharp pain to course through him, emanating from his wounds. He bit his tongue, trying his might not to scream in agony.

He wondered if she may have found pleasure in seeing him struggle to sit up in pain, having not listened to her word of advice and proceeding with his stubbornness. He brushed this thought aside, still feeling her gaze on him

Could it be, that she's calculating and planning how she would kill me at this very moment? Oswald knew how easily she could use the gun and shoot him, and go on her merry way – he certainly would have done so in her case. What is she waiting for? He thought.

There was pause between them as both of them were lost in thought. While Oswald was questioning her motive, the woman she was simply accessing his current state, wondering how she could aid in helping him escape the tunnels.

Determined, Oswald tried to move again, focus on standing on his him and getting up. Before he could do so, two hands on his shoulders stopped him. The woman was careful not to press with too much pressure, but she was certain not to allow him to hurt himself further. He looked up at her startled. He tried to move again, but stopped as he seemed to realized he lacked the energy to pushed against her.

"Not yet," she said to him, her voice cautious and soft but raspy from the strain from her earlier struggles.

His frown diminished to one of questioning. He opened his mouth to say something, but somehow he felt all too weary to attempt to disagree.

"Fine," he said, but his voice was so low that it came out as a mumble and he was certain she didn't hear it.

He watched as she sat back and dug into the left pocket of her coat. Was this the time for his death? He closed his eyes awaiting the inevitable.

He felt her presence leave him, and faintly heard her shuffling around him, and then returning to his side. She spoke again, her voice hushed due to the strain.

"I need to re-bandage your wound before you can move," he heard her say to him, and somehow he found himself taken aback, his eyes opening and staring at her lips as they moved, before again his vision blurred and the dizziness in his head grew.

He closed his eyes again. Thoughts went through him, one of question at the ridiculous idea that this very woman was trying to aid him. Was he dreaming? Had he lost his mind and was hallucinating? - These thoughts were jumbled in his mind, as he slowly felt himself being drained from energy, until the darkness overtook him once again.

When he opened his eyes once more, Oswald found himself looking down at his injured leg which no longer had the tourniquet around it. He was certain the woman had removed it while he had passed out, and was grateful he was not awake to feel the excruciating pain. He also noted a sharp ache on his left bicep, that he did not notice before. He averted his gaze to the new unfamiliar pain and saw blood seeping through his torn sweater.

"I'll take care of it, if you sit tight," she tells him, catching his attention.

In his hazy state he had not registered her close proximity. She was mere inches from his side; the edges of her shirt brushing against his leg as she knelt next to him. She offered him a slight smile of reassurance as she prepared the straps of cloths she tore to use on him.

Somehow Oswald found it all too amusing, the predicament they both found themselves, especially her and the fact that here was this woman aiding him. If he had been her, he would have left already, forgetting about who saved her and simply dissapearing. And yet, here she was nursing him and for what reason?

Oswald took in a sharp breath as the woman moved his injured leg straight and quickly took the clothes and tied a fresh makeshift tourniquet around his wound tightly. She whispered an "I'm sorry" when the tightening caused him to give a slight yelp of pain. He simply grunted and nodded his head, his eyes closed shot-tight.

She then spoke again, and he opened his eyes.

"This will hurt a bit, but the bullet just grazed it." She said this as she began to bandage the wound on his left arm.

Oswald watched in silence as she bandaged his left arm, pursing his lips against the pain. When she finished dressing his wound, a shiver coursed through him and his body shook. The chill coursed through his bones, and the coldness he felt through his body could possibly be due to his blood loss, no doubt.

The woman seemed to notice this and she helped him stand up slowly and assisted in putting on him a thick black knee length jacket – one that he was certain was from one of her attackers. The jacket fit a little loose on him, and provided the warmth he needed.

He stood shakily, his right hand pushed against the tunnel wall to support himself and finally looked at his savior, this woman who stayed to take care of him. What was going through her head? He thought, as she stood there in front of him, her eyes as curious and filled with questions as him. Both of them wounded, hands rested against the tunnel wall, they stood in a brief silence, until her sweet voice decided to cut through it.

"Thank you...thank you so much for saving my life."

Ah, gratitude, he thought.

Oswald didn't reply and simply observed her briefly and then their surroundings. She watched in uncomfortable silence as his eyes roamed around them. He needed his walking stick. He shoved his hands in his pant pockets and came up with the wallet he had stolen earlier, his matches and something was missing. Where was his switchblade?

As if knowing right away, the woman stepped back from him.

"If you'd kindly give my weapon back, I would truly appreciate it," he tells her, trying his best to hide his irritation, and to sound as courteous as he could. Who did this woman think she was? Stealing his weapon when he simply saved her life using said weapon. Did he save a woman who was a thief and not worth saving? Did he make a mistake?

"I'll do so," she began, "but not until I get us out of here."

He seemed surprise by her words, not with the audacity in which she spoke it, but with the trust that such words meant. This woman was now willing to trust him with her life. Who was she to think that I would not simply slit her throat to hide any evidence of my existing in the Underworld? Then again, I cannot get the urge to kill her when she's helped me.

"That's kind of you," he began, doing his best to fix his posture, "but I will not be needing your assistance here."

She raised an eyebrow, her hand on her hips. "Too bad, I just can't let you stay here."

"Why is that, pray tell?"

"Look at you," she pointed at him, "You'll be dead here in an hour at the rate you're going. You can't manage to leave here by yourself!"

"And that's your business, precisely why?"

She doesn't answer him, and simply shook her head in exasperation. Oswald could tell she was questioning how else to proceed.

"Believe me, I doubt our path with remain together in a moment," he tells her, uncertain himself how he wanted all of this to play out.

He watch her closely as she fished through her coat and took out his switchblade. She looked at it, but does not hand it to him.

"What do you mean?" She asks him.

"My goal is to disappear, and that does not involve remaining with you. We'll be on our separate ways; just hand me my blade."

She almost looked disappointed and taken aback by his revelation. And with a hand on her hip and a raised eyebrow she stepped closer to him. She returned the switchblade back in her pocket. It was as if she had realized that between them, she had the upper hand compared to his wounded state.

"'Mister', do you know how to manage these tunnels?"

"I'm not certain, but I'm sure I'll be able to." He doesn't lie to her.

"I doubt it, especially if you want to get out of Gotham."

"And what is it that you know?"

"I know the way out of here," she tells him. She steps towards him, the hazel of her eyes shining through, and he saw the crease of her brows in determination. In the low light from the flashlights that illuminated their area, he now could see fully her face. Her skin showed tan and smooth, beneath the bruises under her eye, and the scratch on her face from her tormentor. She must have been close to his age, perhaps a few years younger than him, he believed. Her light brown hair hung in the same ponytail above her head, wavy and slightly wet with the grime from the tunnel floor when she had fallen. Her small light plum colored lips were pursed as she too was studying him in their brief moment of silence as she waited for his response.

Oswald thought for a moment that in his current state he would probably find himself loss in the tunnels for several more hours. He was again injured and was certain he needed this woman's help to assist him in his stride. He also knew that the woman was a remarkable shot—having not missed the skull of Tony when she fired three shots to him—nor did it seem that she was any damsel at all as he had first thought she was. Right at that moment, he still did not know her, and this did bother Oswald for he was often a man who was accomplished with reading people. This woman in front of him was a conundrum. She was certainly no street walker, and the idea of her being a hostage was not likely as well. Yet he knew that at that moment—in his moment of weakness—he had no choice but to place his trust on her as well.

Perhaps she'll take me out of this tunnel and we'll go our separate ways as planned.

"You suggest we stay together..." he pointed at his leg and his arm as he spoke, an eyebrow raised, "I can't do much to protect you as you can see if anything arises; nor can I help speed the way."

"It's...got nothing to do with that. You...saved...me, and I'm not going to leave you down here to die.""

Her concern was refreshing to him, especially after a day of people wanting him to die. Her eyes were truthful in her concern, he can tell, and he fault himself from being wry and sarcastic. She seemed to be a good woman, so it seems. It was clear now that being alone was the last thing she wanted to go through, and she did see him as her savior, and she his.

"I appreciate the concern, although my purpose in saving you is not as heroic as you may think."

She shrugged, wrapping her arms around her as a shiver went through. "So you murdered them for their resources, I suppose, I wouldn't be surprise if you're some broken man of a crime lord of Gotham."

He was almost taken aback.

"That doesn't bother you?" He asked her.

"It's clear that in this town you have to do what you must to survive, and believe me you were muttering in your sleep your plan to take their keys and wallet as fast as I was going ahead and doing just that."

He stared at her for a moment. He wondered what else he was muttering in his hazed state after he saved her from their altercation with the thugs.

"So taking me, assisting me out of this...Underworld, is your way of saying 'thank you'?" His voice was matter of fact, but almost in disbelief that someone in Gotham—a complete stranger—would even do what she'd done. He would certainly not have done so if he was her. Who was this woman and what else was she not telling him?

She certainly peaked his interest. She appeared to have had it all planned out for herself.

"Yes," she said, very simply. "And if we both don't get out of here now, we'll be better off dead, and those men's cronies may just start snooping."

She did have a point... Oswald pushed himself off the wall and started to step towards her. The movement caused him to hiss in pain, and as soon as the noise came from his lips, he felt the woman's arms around him assisting him up. Her grip around his waist was firm, as she help him keep upright. He was certain she was struggling with his weight, her being of petite and light built, and him a head taller than she.

She looked at him, before they began to move a look of concern in her eyes. Oswald averted his gaze, hating the thought that he found himself so helpless. He tried as his might to ease the weight he had on her and to force himself to pick up his legs instead of allowing them to saunter and drag, but to no avail. And for a moment, they were silent again as they trekked on, both their minds caught in the haze of what had transpired, both filled with a plethora of questions, but neither uncertain to how to begin.

The silence was broken when they paused again, to take a break. They had trekked on for what felt like fifteen minutes to a direction uncertain to Oswald, but he deduced was the way towards the cars of the two men they had just killed.

Both their backs rested against the cold wall of the tunnel, Ruby held the flashlight showing at their feet, her arms lightly brushing against the man next to her. To Ruby it was odd not to know his name, and she wondered if it mattered as she was certain they would part ways the moment they got to the car and she had him fixed up and drove out of Gotham. But the thought of this stranger's presence being so temporary didn't prevent her from opening her lips to speak, especially when she turned to look at him and caught him staring at her through half-closed eyes, rimmed with gray from the bruises and the cold.

"I'm Ruby," she said to him, and noticed a slight smirk—she was uncertain why it somehow made her slightly uneasy—coming from his lips.

"Nice to meet you," he tells her, extended a hand towards her in a mock gesture, his hands still blooded and cold in her grasp. And when their hands fell from each other, Ruby waited for his introduction, but it seemed he had no intention to do so.

"Should I just keep calling you, "Mister"?" She countered at his lack of reciprocation, with a raised an eyebrow, and then she shook her head. "Never mind, what does it matter..." she shrugged at his silence, and pushed herself off from the wall and turned to him to aid him again. Did she really think this man would even bother for such trivial? Her curiosity always had the best of her, and here she was trying to make a type of introduction to a man she had no idea was fully capable of, and then again perhaps he could be someone that she could utilize in the future or could aid her. She sighed and brushed off his lack of introduction and before she aided him in placing his arm over her shoulder, she felt his breathe against her ear.

"I'm Oswald."

His breathy and quiet reply sent a shiver down her body, and made her all too aware of how close they were to each other.

Ruby turned his direction and smiled ruefully. "At least now I feel better dragging around a stranger."

Most of his weight rested on her for aid—although she could feel him doing his best to restrain himself from her. Her arm wrapped around his waist, and his arm rested against his shoulder. As they walked she felt the light touches of his long hair brush against her cheek, and his steady hardened cold breath near her ear and neck, as his head would rest on her shoulder. She tried her best to keep him lifted, as he was almost a head taller than her, and his feet were almost dragging along with him.

Ruby aided him with her light frame, as didn't hold her tongue from periodically letting out a string of curse words out loud as she struggled to carry them through the tunnels. On occasions she would feel Oswald lose consciousness, or mutter through the haze of his suffering. She was happy that most of their trek he didn't seem fully conscious as so not to notice the hardship she faced lugging about a man so tall, and whose svelte frame appeared to be all muscle.

Aside from all this, she was determined that she was to leave the tunnels having saved the man who saved her. This goal was more selfish, in retrospect, as she found that this very goal of saving this man's life aided her in keeping her sanity, and her resolve to remain strong, especially after the trauma of being abused, almost raped, and murdered.

There was a part of her that simply wanted to let everything go and cry in sadness and in anger and to curse at the world for the predicament was found herself. A part of her simply wanted to stop moving on and to wallow in self pity for a life she never wanted to have. And yet, Ruby found herself continuing on, the life of a stranger in her hands, who saved her from her death. This was enough for Ruby to find in herself the strength to remain determined to once and for all leave Gotham behind.

So caught up in her taught was Ruby that she jolted when she felt the hand consciously wrap around her waist for support. He was conscious again, and he had felt her surprise..

Surprisingly she heard him left out a light chuckle at her reaction, until he cough and cringe in pain. Oswald wondered why on earth Ruby continued to drag his dead weight with her, and found himself amused at the image of what they probably appeared like. A small woman dragging a man through the tunnels of the Underworld—utterly hopeless and miserable. To a passerby, he could imagine their words as they would point at their scene. Someone would say about them, "See those two there? They're better off dead."

Oswald mentally shook his dark sense of humor and blamed it on the lack of blood, and the pain. He had to keep awake and to remain cognitive; he also wanted to make sure that this woman who was so determined to save him knew full well that he as still alive and not a dead body she was sadly taking along with her.

"Are we close?" He asked, his free hand pulling out the flashlight he had placed in his pocket and turning it on to guide their way.

He could feel her relief wash over her at his voice, which seemed more conscious and stronger than prior.

"Close," she says.

They continued to walk on, and a few steps later they came face to face with the steel ladders at the end of the tunnel—no doubt heading to the location of the car. They stood bellow the ladders and peered up. It was not a very long trek upward; but both were certain it would be an arduous one.

Ruby turned to Oswald, "Is your other arm okay?" She eyed the bandaged arm which Oswald had free beside him, and in its hands he held a flashlight.

He nodded, "And so is my leg," he assured her.

He watch as she looked him over and her eyes now focused on his leg. Her eyes widened and then her brow creased in worry. The bandages she had just changed on his wounded leg was now soaked through again in blood, and it was then as she met Oswald's gaze again—her flashlight shining towards him and his to her—how sickly pale he looked. She was certain that he was loosing a lot more blood and they had to get out of there immediately.

His piercing gray eyes studied her, and he spoke, this time his voice a lot softer and heavier due to a fatigue that overwhelmed his body again. Oswald felt like he was close to drifting until he felt Ruby's hands gently shake his shoulder as if to make sure he still held on and remain awake.

"If I let you rest anymore, I don't think you'll make it..." He heard concern in that voice.

"Does it matter?" Oswald heard himself say, hearing his voice slurring and muffled. He batted his eyes several times to clear his vision, until he saw her face so close to his. Curious... a woman worried about a complete stranger's well being. And yet god-sent especially after his hellish predicament. And yet, Oswald started to feel that it was probably worthless—her saving him—if she could be on her way instead of dragging him.

Taking her right hand from his shoulder, she used it to tilt his chin to look towards her. It was a gentle movement, and he realized how intimate and inappropriate it seemed.

"It matters," she said, "it matters that I at least get you out of here."

She looked up at the ladders and back at him. "Do you think...you can force yourself to? It's not too far up."

Oswald looked up at the ladders as well. To die and to succumb to the darkness would be the easiest thing for him to do. To accept the reality that he was exactly as Fish Mooney and Gordon dreamed him to be – dirt, unwanted, a failure, and better off dead. But somehow, Oswald found an awakening in his gut that commanded he live, and commanded that he had to make his own destiny and to do so meant to live. He took a deep breathe and straightened himself as best he could; the pressure on his leg causing him pain but he bit it and blinked his eyes some more to focus.

"You climb first, and I'll follow," he tells her. In that way if he was to fall unconscious and to his death, he would not take her with him.

She seemed to understand his reasoning and with a nod, Ruby climbed the ladder with Oswald painfully following suit in a slow fashion, but forcing himself not to rest in fear that doing so would ruin his resolve and cause him to succumb to the pain and the darkness and tiredness overcoming him.

Finally after what felt like an unending tormented painful moment in his life, he looked up from the ladder and saw in front of him Ruby's hands extended to assist him to pull him up from the tunnel entrance. Her hands were firm as she help pull him up and assisted him to stand.

They found themselves in a secluded alleyway in a part of town that had once thrived from the shipping jobs not too long ago. It was close to a ghost town now, with no many cars passing through nor people. It was the part of town which constituted a large church and convent upon which the nuns of St. Katherine of Drexel would do their work in the community, feeding the hungry, and held around that time a food pantry in which Ruby was certain was where a majority of the vagrants had fled to.

In the end of the very same alley, parked Ruby's tormentor's black Cadillac—a color all too common in the Gotham areas—and one that she was so grateful for being the fact.

She opened the passenger door and helped an almost delirious Oswald in the passenger seat. At this point he was extremely cold, and his eyes closed, and his face extremely pale.

Was he going to make it?

She rushed to the drivers side and fished for the keys and then started the car. She had to get him taken care off before it was too late, and she headed to the only place she knew to go.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 3

"Ruby, hurry...through here!"

She looked around her and hurriedly went into the open door of the convent pantry. It was hidden in the back buildings of the convent, away from the cafeteria where the Sisters of Drexel were feeding the homeless.

Sister Lucy ushered Ruby in, and immediately gasped as she turned on the light in the pantry and took in the image of Ruby.

"Oh my word! What happened, Ruby?"

"Sister Lucy, please I don't have much time, I...need your help!"

"What is it?" Sister Lucy had always assisted her and was known to her since her childhood years. She was a kind woman who had always taken care of those in need, as far as Ruby could remember. She also never asked any more questions than needed—although Ruby was certain that Sister Lucy had an idea as to what kind of predicaments led others to come to her hurt and injured.

Holding on to Sister Lucy's hands, Ruby showed her out the door and to the passenger seat upon which Oswald's still body laid.

"We need to get him inside immediately!" Sister Lucy called, and without any other word both she and Ruby carefully carried Oswald's unconscious body into the pantry area.

Ruby did her best to hold his body upright while Sister Lucy fumbled with the latch to a secret door in the wall which opened up to a small infirmary. They then carried Oswald's body inside and laid his body in the first bed they came upon.

The old nun looked at her with worrisome eyes. "How long has he been like this, my dear?"

"I...I don't know, but he's loss a lot of blood," She tried her best to not appear shaky, "And his leg and arm...injured."

"Oh my..." Sr. Lucy shook her head as she looked at the young man in front of her, his black hair fallen over his temple, wet from his sweat, and his eyes closed, and his face pale. She saw the worry in Ruby's eyes, and prayed that whatever it was that caused these young children to be in their current predicament would not be so long lasting and one that would not forever be a part of their lives. She was worried about young men and women like these two, and she made it her duty to assist them.

"Sister, tell me what I need to do to help!"

"Help me get these clothes off him so I can look at his wounds."

Ruby brushed away her tears, she had not realized had fallen. "Is he going to be okay?"

"My dear, he should be grateful you brought him here. It's not too late." Sr. Lucy watched as Ruby gave a sigh of relief. She was not going to ask about Ruby's predicament—not just yet anyway—her concern was first on the ailing man before her.

Ruby helped in removing the clothing, until Oswald laid before her, only in his dark blue boxers. Her eyes roamed his exposed chest, noting the paleness of his skin, the bruises on his ribs, fresh cuts and also the scars upon his the sinewy muscles of his abs. They looked like knife scar from a wound so long ago, so light and some several inches long. Above the bands of his boxers, she saw the line of fine muscle disappearing into his core from his abdomen. It was clear that for his light body he was a strong muscular man—at first glance one would have never guessed. It was also clear that he had been in many fights and altercations in his life; this seemed no shock to her.

Her eyes were then drawn to his legs. His left leg was bloodied, what appeared to be a gunshot wound that hit mere inches from his knee, and also a shot on his calves. She watched as Sr. Lucy prepped and began to clean the wound in silence.

The sight of blood did not faze her as Ruby was all too familiar with the likes of the infirmary, she had been after all an assistant and volunteer to Sr. Lucy oh so many years ago when she had been studying under her tutelage. She watched in silence as the elderly nurse rolled up the sleeves of her navy robe and began to clean the wound.

Ruby remembered assisting Sr. Lucy with cleaning wounds, and aiding the unaccounted people of her Gotham (the women and children that roamed the streets and found themselves in the harsh situations of life). Somehow those days of being a sister in training seemed so distant and so far gone, that it seemed like a dream. Those were the days when Ruby thought that the convent would protect her from the hard life that she was forced to live; those were the days she thought that God was going to save her, and that she had found her path. Now she was just as lost, and wasn't sure of anything anymore. Just as the thoughts and reminisce came into play, so did it disappear. Ruby cleared her thoughts, as she heard the nun ask for additional medical supplies. She moved to pick up medical bandages and alcohol to hand to Sr. Lucy.

Catching her in her quiet observance and motion to help, Sr. Lucy met her eyes in concern. "My dear, what you need to do is get yourself cleaned and rested. I'll take care of your friend here." She took the bandages and alcohol from Ruby in one hand, and with the other, ushered the young woman away from Oswald and towards the doorway which would lead to the other rooms of the infirmary.

"But sister, if I help, maybe we can get out of here faster...get out of your way."

Sr. Lucy shook her head, and returned to tend to the young man's wounds. She looked up between ministrations. "Hush, child. I already know what you're thinking."

"Sister, I...we need to leave as soon as we can. I don't want you getting hurt or them finding you. We can get him fixed up, have him rest on the road while I drive and-"

"Ruby, there's no such thing!" Sr. Lucy's voice was adamant. "You'll stay here until you are well rested and your friend here is fully rested and well."

Ruby shook her head, "There's people out there looking for me and-"

"No, child I'm not letting you leave like this," Sr. Lucy placed the items in her hand down on the nearby table, wiped her hands, and surprised Ruby by taking her in her arms and hugging her.

Ruby was taken aback and soon settled in the elderly woman's warm arms. This woman was like a mother to her, and she knew darn well that she owned her an explanation for disappearing months ago from her care, and she knew that this woman had no need to take care of her like she was doing.

"Sister, I'm sorry..." And somehow Ruby felt the tears fall from her eyes as she began to sob. The heaviness of the events of the day hitting her, and flooding her with visions of the horror she'd committed to free herself from the reigns of the men who thought to return her to her kidnapper, her captor. "I've done so many things and-"

"Shhh, my dear, it's okay." Sr. Ruby rubbed her back as she let Ruby cry.

"I know I owe you a lot of explanation, and I know that..." She shook her head as she stepped away from her embrace. Rubbing her eyes from the tears, she quieted not knowing how to explain or to begin to explain what transpired to get her to the situation she was in at that very moment.

"My dear, there's a reason why I took you in. I've known you since you were a child, and whatever trouble you've gotten yourself into, please know that I'll help you."

"I don't want them to find you and hurt you and-"

"My dear, this is a safe place. You can rest hear, and I promise you they won't find you. Now, please Ruby, go on ahead and take care of yourself. Let me tend to this young mans wounds."

With another hug and a smile, Sr. turned around back to Oswald and soon began cleaning up the wounds on Oswald, who was breathing slowly, mumbling in his dream-like state.

Ruby looked at Oswald's body again and for a brief moment watched Sr. Lucy.

Feeling her eyes on her back, and Ruby's presence, the old woman said to her without turning,

"Ruby, my dear, don't worry, and clean yourself up will you? I have fresh clothes there for you, in the donation area, I know you'll remember where. And when I'm done here I'll take a look at you."

Ruby nodded her head, and giving one last glance at the sleeping Oswald, she turned towards the infirmary bedroom and the showers to cleanse herself.

She was familiar with this secret infirmary, remembering the months she had assisted and aided wounded women and children in secret in the very same place.

She was grateful for people like Sister Lucy and wondered how she got so lucky meeting such people in here life.

.

.

.

[Beginning of Oswald's dream]

His dreams were vivid dreams, at first in full darkness and black veil. He felt only the soft hands brushing against his brow, and then soon when he tried to move he felt himself falling into the oblivion until he found himself floating restlessly and in no direction in the black veil.

He floated for a moment, hearing only the constant loud pounding of his beating heart against his ears. Ta-thud, ta-thud, ta-thud. And then like a movie projected in front of him, he recalled his first meeting with the woman who scorned him, the woman whom he thought he had worshiped and adored, and in some sick fascination had thought had 'loved,' and later betrayed...

"Oswald, my darling, it is so nice to meet you."

"And I you."

"I'm Fish Mooney, and I believe I've found my very new pet..."

Then his scream escaped his likes as he plummeted downward into nothingness.

"My dear, please don't look at me that way," she hissed at him.

"In what way?"

"Like a love sick little puppy, with those promising eyes, wanting eyes."

"Uh, Madam Fish I wasn't-"

"No need, Oswald. I am flattered." She ran her hand against his cheek, and leaned in to kiss his lips, biting it ever so lightly. "It's refreshing."

"It's not my intention to bother you."

She pulled back and studied his face. He looked so very handsome, an earnestness in his eyes and a formality that she had not seen in a very long time in her lovers. And no doubt he was a very earnest lover, so eager to please her, admire her, and in the slightest even love her. To Fish this was what she needed, she needed her pet to admire her like a Goddess and to not think or question all her wishes. To her Oswald appeared the perfect candidate—an easy individual, so eager to join the ranks of Gotham's top mob, and so fresh eyed. So manageable.

"I enjoy your admiration, darling." She kissed him again, and enjoyed his awkward shyness, as she pulled him close to her by the belt of his pants. "I always wanted a pet like you."

"Oh, Ozzy it's so nice to see you! You look so handsome!"

"Thank you, Mother."

"This new job of yours as a front door manager is paying off, huh?" He hand't... he couldn't... tell his mother the truth about his job. He wanted her to be proud of him, and know that finally he was able to provide for her and make sure she was taken care of. He wanted her to know that he could be somebody, and not some son of first generation immigrant barely surviving in a low paying, low-life job, destined to be stepped on.

"It is, Mother, it is." He smiled at her, taking a sip from the tea she made him.

"Is it a very serious job?" She asked him, and he knew she meant 'Is it a job that's dangerous and will get you hurt?'

"Believe it or not, it's a pretty quiet position, ticketing people in and out of the establishment."

"Oh Ozzy, I'm so proud of you! I know you'll do great and show that boss how marvelous my son can be!"

"That's the plan, Mother."

"Oh, sweetie I hope your boss sees your full potential! You'll be a boss yourself one day!"

He smiled at her.

"In time, Mother."

"Look at that punk, I don't see what Fish sees in him."

"Yeah, walking around like a fucking brainless slave."

"What the hell is he even doing here with us?"

"I'm telling ya he's a mistake about to happen."

"Shit, that dimwit said to me that he joined because he wanted to be like one of us."

"That weirdo, a part of our crew? Yeah right, ain't happening. Fish needs to keep him as her bed whore. The kid probably can't kill shit."

"Let's see how 'pretty-boy' last."

"Well, I can tell you for a fact, Fish sure as hell doesn't plan to keep him that long or have him join."

"You sure about that, pal? She seem to fancy him."

"Trust me, I've heard her speaking to Ralf, and I'm sure she got plans for that kid. Maybe a fall guy or something, who knows."

"Maybe someone dumb enough to do something and take the fall."

"Well, whatever it is. She ain't planning to keep him that long. You'll see."

They laughed. "Yeah, he'll probably just be another Carlo."

They didn't realize that he had been listening to them all along, nor did they know that very moment would inspire him to spurn Fish Mooney. Oswald had bigger plans for himself—his mother had always told him that he would be great someday, and that was a promise he made himself and for his mother. He wanted a better life, a nice life, one that meant not being stepped on, ran over, or living in the bottom of Gotham. He wanted to be like those men, like Fish Mooney, at the top. And somehow Oswald realized that in order to do that he had to do whatever it took, even if it meant turning his back on the woman whom he had thought he admired.

Not once did he question what the crew said about her plans for him. He had learned about 'Carlo' after hearing his name several times. Carlo was the pet he had replaced who no doubt was decaying in the bottoms of Gotham's murky bay.

Oswald was a good reader of people, and in his gut he knew that Fish Mooney's intentions with him were not the best. This realization came to mind once he removed the pathetic veil of 'love'/admiration he had for her was removed.

As much as he informed her of his interest to join the ranks of her thugs—in order to make more money to support his mother- she simply belittled him and made sure he remained her careful pet. She wanted him to be an eager young lover, dimwitted and clueless, and polite—a facade Oswald was so good in showing, and one that Fish was blinded from.

"My dear," she said, "You can never be like them." She sensually ran the tip of her high heels over his leg, "I mean look at you; no man would follow you."

It was hard for Oswald to hear this, and yet he remained silent. An anger raging inside of him as she said this in front of her men, and she seemed oblivious to their laughter of him.

"Now be a good fellow, and stop with this nonsense," she pointed at her drink at the table across from them. "Be a dear and get my drink."

Oswald stood up and like a good 'assistant' did her bidding.

Oswald was anything but, and he was certain that she would find out soon, when he took over her reign. He was certain of it.

Gun shot.

The pain coursed through him and he felt himself fall into the cold water. He fault with all his might to swim upward but only to continue to sick. He was holding his breath now and struggled until he found himself gulping the water and he drowned.

The blackness again—he was floating again in the oblivion and the darkness.

This time he felt wetness on his face, and a soft voice, muffled in the far distance.

"Hello!" he yelled, his mouth opened, but no words came out. "Hello!" nothing.

He plummeted downward again, free-falling into darkness, until suddenly he saw a bright light bellow him. He fell towards it until the light enveloped him, and a soft voice of a woman came.

Her brow furrowed in worry, and beautiful green eyes staring back him and into his soul.

"It's all right." she told him, and he felt gentle hands touching his face, "You're going to be okay," she tells him

and then everything faded in the light...

[End of Oswald's dream]

"It's all right," Ruby whispered, dabbing the sweat from his brow. She wondered what he was dreaming about—perhaps a nightmare—that had him tossing and turning. He mumbled a few phrases that she did not make out, and wondered how long he would be in a such a state.

"It's just the fever breaking through."

She turned around to the voice and saw Sr. Lucy standing on the doorway watching her.

"Why don't you rest your eyes, my dear? He'll be fine by tomorrow, believe me."

Ruby nodded her head, set the clothe she had used on the nightstand beside Oswald, and sat on her bed across from his in the room. They were in the infirmary's resting beds—the room was small with two twin beds opposite each other and in between them a night stand with a lamp, and the clothe. The room was a light shade of pale yellow, and the beds soft and comforting. Ruby remembered the many times she would read stories to the children they had saved off the streets on these beds until they slept. And here she was in the same beds, being saved and helped by the only woman in her life that she felt was more her mother than her own mother ever was.

"Do you still help the children and women off the streets?" She asked the old woman, turning to her, remembering how she had met her.

Sr. Lucy sat next to Ruby on the bed and turned to her. "Yes, my dear, we still help them; work hard to get them off the streets; to make better of themselves."

Ruby turned her gaze away. She was once one of those children, lost in the streets, orphaned, living their life day by day, scraps by scraps. For a short period of her time, Ruby had stayed in the church, working closely with the nuns, aiding in feeding the children, giving them warm clothes and food. She had even thought she had the 'calling'.

"You know, you can't always save them," Ruby said, "Gotham... those streets will never let them go."

"Oh child, that doesn't mean I don't help. Whether they stay or not, I'm here to feed them, to clothe them, to let them know that someone's out there cares for their lives."

"And here I am, barging in on your peace, a mess of what I was." Ruby tried to fight the tears from her eyes to fall. "You don't see me for years, and here I am, just another failure at your doorstep."

"No, child," Sr. Lucy stopped her, "you came here to save that man; there ain't no bad in that. You came here to get help, there ain't no bad in that either."

Ruby was silent, as she felt Sr. Lucy's arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. "My dear, I know something happened—something real bad—because of all places you seek shelter here. I see it in your eyes, and I know someone out there hurt you..."

Ruby leaned close on Sr. Lucy's shoulder and buried her face there, fighting the tears which began to fall. She cried silently, biting her lips and holding back the sob that stayed in her chest. She didn't want to be weak, she didn't want to falter.

"Sister Lucy... I can't even begin to tell you what I've gone through, what I've done, what has happened..."

She felt Sr. Lucy's hands brush her hair, and rub her back, "There there child, you don't have to tell me anything—just know that I'm here and I'm here to help."

"I'm so sorry..." Ruby looked up at her, "I'm so sorry that I've turned out the way I have and I...messed up, and I-"

"Shh-shh..."

"Whatever I've done, I had to... and I know that I need to leave here—to leave Gotham and never come back. It's that or I die."

Sr. Lucy met her teary eyes, a frown etched in her face, but she didn't let her go. "My child, there is always forgiveness...there is always hope..."

Ruby looked up again and shook her head, "I'm struggling to keep that in mind, because right now all I see is the hopelessness of this life, and the fact that this very city is cruel, and dark and the people the run it are filled with hatred and are corruption. And I've lost people I love, and I've... I don't know, Sister Lucy..." She shook her head and looked at the old woman, "I don't know if I can forgive until I've seen them suffer for what they've done, what they've taken away from me..."

Sr. Lucy was quiet, and didn't say anything further. She could only pray that Ruby would find her salvation. She wondered what it was that had traumatized and upset the girl, and yet the same time she chose to make sure that she did not ask for her to tell.

Sr. Lucy met many women and children like Ruby and her male friend come through from the streets of Gotham. She herself, had on a few occasions lost faith and hope, having seen the horrid turn of the rule of Gotham. There were more people dying, there were more crime, rape, killings and suffering. And she herself, was not clear of any dealings with the corrupted, as her church had received on occasion offerings and donation from the money of the corrupted. How cruel that in such a world, the very bosses and head of the mobs and mafias still called themselves believers and crossed themselves and attended church. Was she no better than the rest of them?

Her only rationalization for herself was that she helped shelter the suffering, clothe the naked, feed the hungry with the donations she received. Sister Lucy was grateful that in her many years, she was surrounded by her trusted nuns who believed in her work and in the importance of maintaining the silence asked by those who they saved. Ruby was a young woman whom Sister Lucy could not judge for the turn of her life, and she could only pray that she would be all right.

"You know, you can always stay here Ruby and hide from whatever it is, or until things settle down. No one ever looks here."

"I know, Sister Lucy, and I appreciate that... but I know that the longer I...we stay here in Gotham the more I'm putting all our lives in danger. We need to leave as soon as we can before they start looking."

She took Ruby's hands in hers and squeezed them. "Then, if that's the case you're going to let me help you the best I can, child."

"We'll be out of your hair tomorrow..."

"If and when he's full and well awake, you'll need to leave at the earliest before the sun rise."

"That was the plan," Ruby nodded her head.

"The car I saw you drove in, I know it isn't yours... we'll help rid of it-"

"No, that won't be necessary-"

"There's another way you can leave the city and it'll be undetected."

Ruby was about to speak, but Sr. Lucy held a hand to stop her, and told her firmly, "Not another word about it. We'll speak about this tomorrow; you need to rest, my dear."

Ruby took a deep breath, and released it slowly. She felt the stress of what had to be done, and the frustration that Sr. Lucy was adamant in helping her, and she had no choice but to accept it.

"All right," she said to the older woman. She felt the fatigue course through her body, and it was then that she realized how tired she really was and how late the time was.

"Get some rest, Ruby."

Ruby didn't say another word as she watched Sister Lucy leave. She simply got under the covers, and closed her eyes to a dreamless sleep.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please review to let me know what you think of this chapter. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 4

Oswald opened his eyes with a jolt.

Where was he?

What happened?

He found himself rested on the soft mattress of a twin bed, a thick comforter and sheet covered him up until half of his stomach. He was shirtless, and could feel the bandages that covered a wound on his chest and his arm. He also knew that the tightness on his leg was due to the tight bandaging of his wounded leg. Someone had taken care of him and he was certainly grateful. For a moment he wondered, if he was dreaming this—being awake and aided. The eggshell colored ceiling greeted his gaze, and he blinked several times until his eyes focused. He took a deep breath, praying that he was indeed awake from the vivid dreams that haunted him.

A movement alerted his attention and he immediately took note of a presence in the room. He was not alone after all.

He turned to face his left, from where the motion came, then winced in pain out loud as the rolling over caused him to rest on his injured shoulder. "Damn!" He hissed loudly, as he immediately rolled over on his back again. He stared at a speck on the ceiling as he settled and waited for the blinding pain to subside.

A deep breath steadied him as he used peripheral vision to see who it was that accompanied him. With a minute adjustment of his head, he was able to get a good glimpse of the woman named 'Ruby' nestled in the bed across from him. Oddly enough, Oswald felt a feeling of elation; a part of him was pleased to know that this woman had survived, and that she had in fact taken him to safety as she promised.

A part of him remained amazed at his tenacity for 'good luck' in the worst of cases, and his mother's words echoed in his head: "Luck plays with the Cobblepotts, it hides, but appears in our worst of times. It's a hope, and this luck is in the blood."

No more a time than that very moment did Oswald felt his luck. An unlikely woman saved him, and now here he was patched up and rested. A small smirk appeared on his lips at his 'luck'.

He watched in silence as Ruby stirred and began to roll out of the bed, and stood facing towards him, oblivious to his attention. She was wearing a large long sleeve gray t-shirt and black shorts underneath. It looked as if she had washed and cleaned herself, her tanned skin smooth, her brown hair fell in thick waves a little past her shoulder. If it were not for the cut on her lip, and bruises on her face and arms, she would have looked like any other woman getting out of bed to begin a new day devoid of any horrors of Gotham. This woman was not that at all.

When she finally sensed his presence, her eyes fell on his, surprise at first, but then observant.

"How are you feeling?" She asked.

"I'm still in pain, but I feel well rested." He hadn't realized how raspy his voice was until he spoke, and how his throat hurt.

"That's good," she told him as she raised her hands above her to stretch her aching muscles. The large gray shirt she wore climbed hire as she stretched her arms, exposing briefly the skin on her waist. Oswald noted the bruises she had on the flat of her stomach, as well as on her arms, and then her neck. He was then met by her questioning gaze, as he noted the black eye she had and the bruises on her cheek. He had no doubt he shared similar bruises as she—he wasn't too excited about looking at his reflection in the mirror any time soon.

Ruby doesn't say anything else, and immediately – as if realizing what she was wearing – she put her hands to her side and took a seat on the bed.

He had been asleep for a few days, and she was surprised that he had awoken at all as she had expected his fever to last longer than a mere three days. She actually, in truth, didn't expect him to survive at all, but found it in herself to remain with him to aid Sr. Lucy in his care.

She sat on the bed across from him, her hands rested on her side, her long legs stretch in front of her. His observant gaze did not faze her. Ruby didn't try to hide either that at that very moment she was looking at him, studying his bare chest which were bandaged, as well as the muscles on his arms, and the long strands of hair that fell slightly over his temple. She was glad to see a faint of color on his face instead of the deathly pale she had observed during his state of unconsciousness. A part of her was glad that this stranger who saved her life somehow made it all right and was now able to converse with her.

She gave him a faint smile, "You're certainly looking a lot better." The words were filler for the heavy silence that fell in the room between them. There were so many questions and words unsaid, too many that no doubt was running through each other's head, and yet both Ruby and Oswald worked their might to remain as quiet about the incident that led to their current predicament. Ruby was grateful that he had brought the questions first to break the silence...

.

.

"How long have I been out?" He asked her, his body turned to her direction. He remained laying down on his side, afraid that any other movement to get up would only make his injuries worst.

"You were sick for a few days," she began, "you were in and out of consciousness during those days. I...didn't even expect you to be awake right now."

"I don't remember much of those days," Oswald tried to rake his mind with any remembrance of the times he was lucid, but only bits and pieces would appear in his mind, most of which he was certain were mere dreams, "Those days seem fleeting...things don't seem so clear..."

"I'm sure...," she said, her brow furrowed. "You had a fever—we were worried about infection, but you were all right thanks to Sr. Lucy."

"Sr. Lucy..." Oswald remembered hearing the name, and a vision of an elderly woman in her 70s tending to his wounds, he averted his gaze to a spot in the wall, above the headboard of Ruby's bed. Atop was a crucifix, and he saw that Ruby's gaze fell on this fixture as well.

He didn't have to ask his questions out loud, and no doubt his eyes said it.

"We're in a secret infirmary run by the Sisters of Drexel, in the outskirts of Alphabet District. We're safe here," she tells him, "Sr. Lucy is the nun whose helped you, she took us in that night."

Oswald had a flashes of scenes from that night, remembering the elderly woman and Ruby lifting him on the observation table. He remembered hearing prayers said by the elderly woman, Sr. Lucy, as she cut open his shirt. The memories flashed in his mind, but were like incoherent bouts that made him wonder if some of them were dreams he had in his fevered state.

One such memory was a vivid one of a woman with worried green eyes, whispering to him, touching his face and whispering consoling words. He remembered following that voice in his state of limbo, and he remembered being touch by the sincere worry there. He was still unsure what to take of the whole incident he found himself in, and wondered still the prerogative of the woman before him.

With a heavy breath he began to adjust himself to a sitting position, and immediately saw Ruby jump in position to help him. Her brows furrowed in worry as she extended her hand to help him, but instead felt him decline under clenched teeth. He didn't need her help, Oswald thought, he needed to make sure she knew that sooner or later he would be gone from her, or so he kept telling himself.

Once in a seated position, he met her gaze again. Ah, he thought, there are those green eyes. Somehow he was captivated by the veracity and sincerity in those eyes that he wondered what could she have done to have befallen Maronni's man Kingsley.

.

.

As she stood above him searching his bandages to make sure everything was still in tact, Oswald wondered if there was more to this 'Ruby' than met the eye. At first glance she seemed completely caring, and soft, and not toughened by the streets.

He had to shake himself of this thought, finding in himself that perhaps what he was witnessing could easily be a great facade as the one that he was showing her. This suspicion could be attributed to his many experience of men, having befallen the wrath of women who were fully capable of tricking them with their facades.

/

"Not every woman is as up front about their darkness as I, Oswald," he remembered Fish explaining to him, as he stood behind fish as she saw a woman in her thirties being dragged out from her bakery my Fishes' men. The woman flayed and screamed, begging for anyone to help her, but everyone who saw simply ignored her and rushed to stay away from the incident. "That there, my dear, is a perfect example..."

"Madam Fish, what do you mean?" He remembered wondering what such a woman would have to do to befallen his boss's wrath. "What has she done?"

Fish pointed one long finger at the woman's direction, and urged the woman to be led towards her. Without turning to Oswald, she held out her hand. He passed her gun. The woman begged and cried in front of them, and Oswald looked on in stark shock, until in one smooth motion Fish fired her gun at the woman's head and her body fell in a lifeless heap in front of them.

"That woman was capable of killing five of our men," she told Oswald as she handed back her gun, "Poisoned them until they bled through their eyes, and right there," she pointed at the large barrels, "is where she kept them."

Oswald remember asking no other questions...

"Women, my dear, are capable of anything in wrath, fear, and revenge," Fish told him, "Most you'll find, are just oh so brilliant in the way they hide it behind their masks...out of their own choosing."

With a tilt of her head she ushered one of her men to dispose of the woman's body, and they stood there and watched as the dead body as dragged away.

/

Perhaps she wanted him to think her weak, a harmless victim, so that he'd feel sorry for her and leave her be. Yet, in his mind Oswald knew full well that Kingsley's men would not raise such wrath upon any woman unless it was for due cause as per their mafia standard. Such cause often was due to betrayal of loyalty, snitching, or perhaps witnessing something she shouldn't have to begin with. Somehow this 'Ruby' had angered one of Maronni's appointed men 'Kingsley' and somehow Oswald was curious to find out exactly why.

What was so special about Ruby that led for Kingsley to want to have her captured and murdered? Could he somehow leverage her? Perhaps find a way to buy his way into the good graces of Maronni? -No, he thought, that's not an option; he was not thinking right. What he needed to do was get out of Gotham for a while, and get back on his feet, and plan a way that he could prove to Fish how wrong she had been all along. A part of him was certain he would be better off biding his good byes to this woman and they part separate ways, coming to terms that she was certainly no one worth thinking over.

"I'll be going, I'm going to let Sr. Lucy know you're awake."

Her words shook him out of is reverie and he watched as she straightened herself and began to turn to leave. He stopped her with a raise of a hand outstretch to her, which caught her eyes.

"Wait," he tells her.

"What is it?" She asks, "We can talk when you're settled; I'll bring food to you and have Sister check your wounds." He saw her swallow hard, and brush a strand of hair behind her ear. He could tell she was nervous around him.

Oswald couldn't help but relish the fact that he made her uncomfortable, which was in fact his intent. Somehow he wanted her to feel uncomfortable, to get her to rid of this facade she was showing him. He had a feeling she was not as weak as she displayed herself to be, he needed to know.

"In those couple of days I had my fever, I remember a woman who stayed with me and spoke to me, a woman who nursed me," he feigned ignorance, hoping she'd catch that he was insinuating there was a third woman. He noticed her shift uncomfortably, "Where is she?"

"I think you were dreaming," she said to him, "Sr. Lucy was the one that stayed with you throughout those days taking care of you."

A lie.

Oswald fought a smirk in his lips, and continued to feign dumbfounded, "No, no," he insisted, "I remember very well another woman; green eyes like yours... aiding me, begging me to stay alive."

Ruby swallowed, "Fever dreams," she said as she turned around to leave, but he stopped her.

"Perhaps they were," he said, and their gaze met, "And perhaps they were true, and that it was you who was by my side..." He smiled at her, "Begging me to live..."

"I'll be back..." She turned to leave.

"Please," he watched as she passed, her back turned to him. "You see, I find it interesting that you'd work so hard to save my life, and to even beg...pray...I'd live."

"What's wrong with wanting someone to live?" She turned to him fully this time, her back to the door, her face unreadable now.

"You could have simply left me there, and yet here I am!" He raised an eyebrow, "Alive and well, all thanks to you and that nun who no doubt turns a blind eye to our predicament and how this come to be. Why is that?"

"Like I had told you...You saved my life, and I returned the favor."

"How noble," He shifts in his bed, straightening his back more against the wooden headboard. He hated feeling helpless, and wanted so much to get out of bed, but decided not to so since he did not want her to watch him struggle or fall due to his weak and wounded leg. "But I think there's more to it than that," he tells her and watch as her brow furrowed... He was right. "You think I can help you somehow, that I'll have the right ties to help you from Kingsley"

For a moment she simply stared at him, and then surprised him with a slight laugh. This took Oswald aback, and he found himself almost shocked at the light sound of her laughter, as it reverberated in the room. It was a short and bitter laugh, as if his very words were a joke, a craziness that she found so humorous. It was a laugh of hopelessness.

For a moment she seemed to appear like a lost and hopeless woman, as she stopped her short laugh and walked towards him until she was standing directly at his bedside, looking down at him. She was certainly no longer nervous, her body language unreadable to him now.

"I wish what you said were true, but I've already deduced that you're in no way a help in my situation." She shook her head and sighed, "We're the same... a noose already around our heads..."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please review to let me know what you think of this chapter. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 5

This was not how Rubi wanted to wake: to be conversing with a man questioning her, speaking coherently, and observing every little fiber of her being. How was it that he could look at her, and make her feel so exposed? His eyes were deep pools that remained unreadable and yet consistently prying. A part of her wished that he was still asleep; unconscious as he was a few days ago. She wished she hadn't volunteered to keep watch of him as he recuperated, which led to her sleeping in the same room across from him.

"Rubi, how do you know this man?" Sister Lucy had asked a few days ago.

"He's a friend," she had wanted to lie, but ended up saying "He's...someone who saved my life."

"He'll need to rest for a while, I can't guarantee when he'll be awake, my dear."

"I'll stay here with him, Sister Lucy."

She hoped that the old nun did not suspect anything more to her decision to sleep in the same room. The last thing Rubi wanted to do was cause panic in the old nun if she had found out that this man was truly a stranger to her. Sister Lucy didn't say anything more to it, nor did she ask any other questions about her relationship to Oswald. The reason for her being in the same room had nothing to do with 'caring', but more of a way of protecting the nun from the stranger.

Rubi wanted to make sure that Oswald was not going to wake up at any moment and attempt to do harm to any of the nuns of St. Katharine Drexel. She was determined to keep a close watch of him just in case he had murderous intentions or take unkindly to her saving his life.

This very fact was hidden from Sr. Lucy, of course, and Rubi made sure that the old nun didn't know. She was also grateful that Sister Lucy showed no signs of wanting to know Lucy turned a blind eye to the items that Rubi had brought with her when she encountered the nun that night: the stolen wallets, the two guns, the clothing. In agreement to the nun, the items were placed in a locked drawer in the very same room Rubi and Oswald were staying in. Sr. Lucy had kept the key—of course oblivious to the one item Rubi snuck out of her site—although she wouldn't be surprise if the nun knew her suspect, but simply decided not to say anything about it...

And now he was awake, and questioning her very motive.

"You could have simply left me there, and yet here I am!" He raised an eyebrow, "alive and well, all thanks to you and that nun who no doubt turns a blind eye to our predicament and how this came to be. Why is that?"

How many times did she had to tell him?

"Like I had told you...You saved my life, and I returned the favor."

"How noble...But I think there's more to it than that," he tells her and watch as her brow furrowed... He was right. "You think I can help you somehow, that I'll have the right ties to help you from Kingsley"

She was surprised he'd even remember Kingsley's name or that he took note of it, especially during the event of that night in the Underworld. A part of her wanted to shake him, to let him know that the very thought that perhaps he'd be able to have the proper ties to aid her of ridding of Kingsley's wrath was even possible. How badly she wanted to explain to him that in the days he was asleep, she spent countless hours thinking, praying, even daydreaming that she had in fact saved someone important enough to have the proper connections to Kingsley's boss, Maronni, or perhaps Falcone to get the protection she needed... only to realize that he was probably as hopeless as she, and that she probably saved a man for nothing. And that she had saved him truly out of her own humanity.

And then it hit her, the ridiculousness of the situation she found herself. Who had thought that one day she'd find herself running away for her life, and in turn complicating it by saving this worthless man's life... and to live a day in which he had the audacity to even question—to question—her humanity, her motive? Was it necessary? Didn't he realize that he was a dead man walking, just as her? Didn't he realize who he was speaking to?

Rubi was no simpleton, and while a large part of her did save him out of some semblance of kindness for mankind, she had also considered the possibility that he could have been someone who was able to help her—although that reality, she realized, was highly doubtful.

She shook her head and found herself laughing.

She laughed because she realized that she was nervous around a stranger that was probably as pathetic and hopeless as herself. She laughed because a part of her shook herself and berated herself for even struggling up the channels of the Underworld to carry his body to safety and to expose the only woman whom she considered family in danger.

For what?

He didn't speak to her in a threatening way, more of one in exasperation, perhaps disbelief as well, and of course a suspicion. Such feelings were not unfounded—Rubi was the one with the upper hand, not being as badly wounded as him. With that realization in her mind, Rubi decided that there was no need to be nervous around this man. If he had bad intentions, or wanted to hurt her or the sisters, he had no weapons to do so, and was no doubt still weak from the lost of blood, fever and wounds. She was certain that she could easily take him down if need be—although she doubted he would be the kind of man that she'd have that issue with.

And so, she decided to pull herself together and show to him she was not afraid of him. She straightened her back, as she looked right into his surprised eyes—a look she was so pleased to excite from him and moved close to his bedside until he had no choice but to look up. She found herself taking a few steps until she stood in front of him, instead of leaving the room as she intended. He was surprise at first, and then looking up at her with those steely eyes he spoke.

"I wish what you said were true, but I've already deduced that you're in no way a help in my situation." Was he holding his breath? Was he nervous now? "We're the same... a noose already around our heads."

We're both already dead anyway, so why bother fighting each other? Is what she wanted to say.

He doesn't say anything to this and then when he opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off.

"Do you mind?" She asked as she looked at the side of his bed, there was a space where she could sit. For a moment he wondered why she had decided to sit next to him, but then realized she came close to get a closer look.

He nodded his head and felt the bed shift slightly as she sat on it. The movement was light and didn't bother his leg or arm wound. Her presence so close, and her look of concern so sincere as his eyes met hers. He felt an odd warm feeling in his core—which he quickly brushed off. He wondered where their path where to go now.

"The thought of you being somewhat helpful came to mind I won't lie to you," she told him, her lips in a thin line, an air of seriousness about her. "Of course, I know now more than ever how you can't help me in any way."

Oswald adjusted his seating carefully, his back against the headboard of the bed, his shirtless torso exposed with bandages.

"And yet you've kept me alive even after you realize I'm worthless to you?" It wasn't a question; more of a statement.

"Would you had me kill you instead, right here inside a convent?" She retorted back. She shook her head in humored disbelief, "Do you really want to die so badly?"

He smirked at her, "If I tell you I did, would you be kind enough to return to me my knife so I can finish this life as I intended?"

She crossed her arm, and raised an eyebrow. "I'll let you do that; let me just go ahead and grab your gun too."

"You're being sarcastic," he pointed out matter-of-fact, "I'm surprise you seem well after the alternation you'd had." He wanted to catch her off guard and he did, because again her facial expression change, her smirk disappeared and she looked out the window.

"Don't remind me of that night," her eyes fixed to the window in the room, to the right of the headboard of Oswald's bed. "Those bastards...I could have died if you hadn't..." She trailed off, and didn't continue on. He didn't blame her for trying to forget.

"My reasoning for saving you wasn't gallant, believe me," he reminds her which seemed to trigger something in her and cause her to frown at him. He watched as he glimpsed the ever careful facade break away so lightly—an anger or hard determination there—and then carefully it was placed back again.

She simply smiled at him, "Whatever the reason, I'm glad you got me alive and those men...are right where they should be."

"Why were they after you?" He decided to ask.

"Perhaps for similar reasons why you found yourself trying to escape Gotham with a bullet almost through your leg," she looked at him, her gaze more stern. It was clear she was not willing to share, and this was something was not surprise with. He did however could see that he slowly chipped at her facade.

She changed the subject as he carefully studied her, taking a deep breathe to settle herself.

"We've patched up your arm—it'll take several days to heal," she told him, matter of factly, blatantly ignoring his question. It was clear she was not willing to share, and this was something was not surprise with. He did however could see that he slowly chipped at her facade. He saw her steady the shakiness in her hands, the nervous tick of her hand brushing away a strand of her hair behind her ear. He could give her that, he thought, and allow her no further question.

He was still not sure if knowing more about Rubi was worth anything more to him that what it already did. He had a feeling that they were to part ways soon.

"The bullet grazed, so you should be fine." She continued on to him, and then averted her gaze to his legs hidden beneath the covers. Oswald already knew what she was to say.

"As for your leg...Sr. Lucy says that their will probably be permanent damage, due to where the bullet hit and also due to all the pressure from the trek."

"I knew that would be the case..." he said, his voice raspy still. He ran his good hand through his ruffled hair, sleeking it back, away from his forehead in thought. What was her prerogative? Did she know who he was?

He could clearly see that his awakened presence made her uneasy, and he knew she wanted to leave and a part of him was determined to make their interaction longer.

He was about to say something more to her, until she made a move again to leave. "I'll be right back, I'll get you something to eat and let Sr. Lucy take a look at you."

He didn't say anything else at that and simply watched her as she left.

.

.

.

Oswald didn't see Rubi return for a while, but instead an old elderly nun who introduced herself as "Sister Lucy", greeted him with his meal and a warm smile. He returned her greeting with a nod and a smile as she placed the tray of food on his lap, and pulled a chair next to his bedside.

He had not realized how hungry he was until he saw the food, and he found himself eating ravenously as the nun relayed to him about his conditions and how they had fixed him. He listened to the nun carefully relay the night of his arrival, asking little diagnostic questions here and there, and listening to his short responses. It surprised him that not once did the nun show any interest in his relationship to Rubi. All of her words and plethora of questions were regarding his current condition.

"How is the leg, my dear?" She asked taking the empty tray away from him, setting it aside and then pulling the bed sheet away until his bare legs were exposed.

The bruises were there, as well as the stitches and bandages present. It was no pretty sight, Oswald knew, but he kept his eyes at his wounds to force himself to embrace the reality of his scars. Sr. Lucy continued on in her check-up.

A few tests proved that Oswald still had feeling on his leg. His own stubbornness to stand against the nun's horror and protest, led him to realize that he could still stand—or perhaps stumble about—and bare through the searing pain and hubble about. He of course was certain that if he planned on leaving soon, he needed crutches.

Against the nuns protest, and his insolence, she agreed that she'd provide him the crutches and that the choice were his if he planned to leave soon, although she stressed, "If you don't rest that leg, you may find yourself not walking properly again."

At that of course, he didn't tell her how he'd had issues with his gait long before the gun shot wound, but decided against it. 'I doubt, I'll see her again anyway,' he thought. But the only words that came out in reply were a mere "All right" from his lips.

The elderly nun's worried gaze and persistent begging made him return back to laying on the bed soon after. Sister Lucy helped him with gentle and patient hands as he was seated back down on the bed, with his legs outstretched before him and his back against the headboard.

Once settled, the old nun left him as quickly as she appeared, but not before she told and he found himself once again in Rubi's presence.

Before leaving the door he heard the old nun whisper to Rubi, "I wish you'd reconsider your plan to leave, he needs more time, my dear."

"It's already been decided," he heard Rubi whisper back as she bid the nun goodbye.

Oswald wondered if they realized he heard their exchange, but chose to pretend he was oblivious to it as Rubi turned her attention to him.

"She just said you'll need more rest here for several more days," she lied to him as she sat on the bed across from him. It was clear she didn't expect for him to have heard their exchange so clearly

He nodded, "Ah of course, she did stress that multiple times..." He notice her shift on her seat, "Although, by the sound of your brief exchange that is something I will not be privy to, am I right?"

A pause.

"Yes, you are right." she began, "I know you can't walk very well right now, and that it'd be best if you stayed here for several more days... but I hope you'll understand that I can't let you stay here any longer."

"What exactly are you trying to say?" He asked her, his brows furrowed. Oswald knew full well the very reason—he had even imagined the scenario—but wanted to see Rubi's reaching, and allow her to unveil what he hoped would be the outcome he had thought out.

"Oswald... We're safe here for now, but we'll need to leave-"

"We?" He raised an eyebrow, this time almost amused. He knew he would be asked to leave, but had no idea it would be with her.

Rubi nodded her head, a look of determination in her eyes.

"Yes," she said, "Unfortunately, I can't allow you to stay here too long, same as me. I can't put Sr. Lucy and everyone here at risk like that."

"I understand," he said, noting a tone of protectiveness and worry in her voice as she spoke about the elderly woman. "I'll be out of here once I get back all of my things," he looks at her pointedly, "My clothes, my knife, money—everything I had on me—long before we came here."

"Everything is in that drawer, minus your weapon, of course." She pointed at the bed stand and its drawers.

"If I wanted to kill you, wouldn't you think I would have done so already?" He asked her, almost threatening.

"No," she said matter-of-factly, "You wouldn't have in your prior state; you were in bad shape—you still are—so the more you threaten me, or try to, the least likely you'll be getting any of your stuff." She seemed irritated by him, very defensive. "Also, perhaps you should thinking that if /I/ wanted to kill you, I would have already. Fair?"

He raised an eyebrow at her audacity, surprised at her fire. He could appreciate that, he thought. Oswald sighed as he arranged himself better in the bed, realizing that he was shirtless and exposed to the air, and only wearing a pair of boxers. He didn't even want to think about how he ended up undressed, or who assisted him in doing so. He tried to brush that off completely. He also didn't want to end up out on the streets in nothing but his underwear, due to him having rubbed Rubi the wrong way.

He changed his tone of voice and his demeanor, perhaps he should speak to her with more sweetness. He softened his gazed on her, "I apologize," he said, trying his best to sound sincere, and he wondered if she'd notice for she doesn't show a response, "Perhaps I should thank you for your help, and accept it's termination as you state." He is met with an equal raised eyebrow; some part of him doubted that such tactic would work on her, but he still was uncertain.

She had a determination about her, especially after her near-rape incident. She had her defenses up, her eyes roaming him, studying him and waiting for him to attack. Funny, he thought, he didn't have the incling to do so. A part of him somehow felt that this woman would help him in his goal to leave Gotham somehow; or at least guide him until he exited Gotham successfully.

Unknown to him, she was very protective of the elderly nun. He was certain that she would not leave until he left as well, and that although it would be for her betterment that she would have left already, she had stayed not to care for him and watch him get better—but to ensure that he would not end up hurting the nun who had helped him. Yet, he was also certain that her core being and character had in it a kindness that was determined to aid those who helped her. And he was sure, she counted him as her rescuer, and she needed to even the debt.

"We'll be heading out of here tomorrow, before day break, now that you seem up and well enough to move."

He looked outside the window, noticed that was light outside. He turned to her, "We set foot out there, and we're both better off dead. They'll sure to find us." He tells her. He wasn't sure who her 'they' were, but he didn't doubt that she was running away too, especially after murdering two of Maroni's henchmen. He wasn't certain yet what it was that got her so much in trouble, he was curious to find out, but wasn't certain if it was necessary at all to know.

"No one knows I'm alive," he tells her, "but putting my face out there walking around Gotham in the daylight will sure get me shot, and all of this was for naught." He wasn't sure why he cared to share that fact with her, perhaps he wanted to get her reaction—see if she would ask questions. But she didn't ask questions, instead she was focus on the very fact that they needed to leave, and he needed to be far away from the elderly woman that she was close to.

"I'll go out of here by today, if that's the case," he tells her, "I'll head out in the nighttime."

"I can't afford for you to remain here any later," she explained, "These women mean the world to me, Oswald, and as crazy as this may sound, I need to make sure you're far away from here. I don't know who you are or who my be after you, and I can't risk their lives."

He smirked at her, almost laughing at her stated words. "I find it touching—your concern for these women—but my leaving with you is unnecessary." She was quiet. "As I mentioned, to my antagonist, I'm 'dead' and no one's searching for me. I can leave here, without your aid, and believe me, it's not my prerogative to stay in Gotham, especially after being deemed dead by everyone who were after me. My one goal is to escape here unnoticed so I can go on with my life."

"Have you seen the state you're in?" She asked him pointing at his bandages and at his leg. "How do you even plan to leave here even at night? You'll walk? Hitch a ride? I can't let you do that. And how far do you even think you'll get?"

"Why are you going to help me escape Gotham?"

"Because I think I owe you that," she smiled, he observed her face, her small nose,long eyelashes, full lips, and the bruises that mar her face from her altercation from before. She was beautiful and yet still a mystery to him. He wanted to know if her kindness was due to another prerogative, but he could not find any signs that said otherwise.

She got up slowly until she was standing in front of him. "And, besides that, I can't have you stay here with Sr. Lucy, Oswald," she looked at him seriously, "I...I just can't put her in anymore danger, and I need to know you're far away too."

And so there was the truth, Oswald thought. Rubi had saved him—in retaliation for his valiant efforts and couldn't pathom leaving him rotting in the tunnels, and more so he already encountered the woman whom he was certain was like a mother to her. This woman, Sr. Lucy, as she was called didn't seem to mind their predicament at all, and was so helpful in his recovery. To Rubi, the sooner they got out of there the least likely Fish Mooney or Detective Gordon, or the Kingsley and his men would come after the nun—the one person who sheltered them in. The longer they stayed the longer they put another person at risk, and the reality was, a part of Oswald was not denying the idea of leaving Gotham with the this woman whom he only new for such a short time, but who was adamant in 'saving' him in return.

"So your plan is to take me with you instead?" He asked.

"My plan is to help you," she tells him, "we both have similar objectives—to leave Gotham—and we're given the best choice to do so with the aid of Sr. Lucy."She turned to him with a smile, "No one goes into the Underworld unless they're trying to escape Gotham, and by the looks of it, you have no choice. And it seems we both have the same prerogative."

"I see. So aside from the fact you want me out of here for their protection, this is also your way of thanking me?"

"Whatever your reasoning, you saved my life, and … I can't allow all of this to be for nothing either. We'll leave Gotham, and we'll part ways there."

"Pray tell how are we going to accomplish this?"

"Don't think I haven't thought of that," she said. She ran a hand through her hair, which fell on her shoulders. They were long and wavy, with streaks of sun kissed light brown. Oswald imagined what she would look like if she had not been so toughened and roughened by the streets of Gotham, and he even wondered what she had done before that very night. Was she a woman of the streets—or was she someone that had fallen from grace, having been the the right place at the wrong time? He tried to prevent himself from further questions about the woman who went by 'Rubi'.

With a sigh, she continued on, "We'll leave Gotham using the missionary van the sisters take around Gotham and out to the small towns outside the Gotham perimeters. We'll be hidden in the back of the van, unseen, until we reach Ginsberg."

"One of the nuns will drive us out?" This caught his attention.

"Every Thursday around 6:30 AM, two Sisters of Drexel drive this car out of Gotham to bring food and clothing to the small outer towns. They've done this for many years, and the police and gangs know their routes, but they never bother them." She explained this, her eyes meeting his, looking at his scar and bruises on his neck and then his muscled chest and the scars and cuts their too. There were a few knife scars, ones that looked old. "They make their way to certain parts of the city, handing out food and clothing, and then end at Gainsburg at a parish their."

Oswald coughed lightly, with the intent to get her attention. He noticed her ministrations and curiosity with his body; this bothered and at the same time interested him. He watched as she caught herself and quickly looked up at his eyes, shuffling on her seats.

Had she been staring all along? She thought, and knew the answer as she saw a smirk on Oswald's lips. She ignored it and continue on, "You see, the odd thing with Gotham is people respect the church—-ironic, but that's the truth worth using to our advantage."

He watched as she got up and stood near the window. Her petite body was not skinny, but curvy, and she stood wearing dark jeans, black combat boots, and a grey tank top and a dark navy zip-up hoodie. The clothes looked lose on her body, and he was certain they were probably clothes that had been donated and kept by the church. He was certain and hoped that there were clothes for him to change into that were different from the ones that he had worn—he did not doubt this for one bit. He did not want to have anything to do with the clothes he wore in the tunnels.

"During the missionary rounds, we'll remain in the back of the truck, hidden, until they've reached the outer town of Gainsburg."

"Gainsburg is pretty much still Gotham, just off the bridge," he said.

"It's the safest we can get out of Gotham," she tells him, "from there on, it's just a matter of hitching a ride out. "

"Of course," he said in thought, Oswald wasn't too worried about this. He didn't have people searching for him, and he was certain that at that point word would have already gotten out that he as dead. Rubi on the other hand was a different story. He reminded himself that the thought of her well being was irrelevant, especially since they were probably to part ways once they arrived in Gainsberg.

"Aren't you concerned?" He asked her and watched as she turned to him, with a look of question.

"Concerned about what?"

"Whoever it is you got after you are probably already looking for you. They may already be at Gainsburg."

She folded her arms and looked out in thought, "They'll be expecting me to travel at night, I'm certain of it. They'll increase watch during the nighttime, but this early on and in the van, I have no doubt they would not check at all. And as for Gainsburg, I have my ways; I'll find away to get the hell as far as I can, believe me."

"It must have been something serious, what you've done." He said, trying to see if she would share anything about herself. A part of him was curious about her predicament, especially since he could not picture or even come close to guessing what she must have done to have Maroni's men wanting to hurt her so badly.

She turned to him, "It can't be as serious as what you've done to get yourself walking to the Underworld trying to disappear."

So she wanted to play that way, he thought. He simply smirked at her, as he slowly got himself off the bed—careful not to mess up stitches or bandages. She ignored his movements but watched through peripheral vision as he shakily got up and headed for the drawer of the bed stand. She knew he was planning to get dressed.

She didn't owe this man any explanation, she didn't owe him any reasoning or story for what she'd done. She turned to him and watched as he had already gotten on the dark pair of black sweatpants, they surprisingly fit him quite well, and was working on putting on the faded olive green shirt from a close-down amusement park. It was clear that it was hard for him to pull on the shirt, as he stared at it, unfolded in his hands.

Without a word, she came to him and was surprised that he did not flee from her help. With gentle hands and caution she pulled the shirt over his head—watching as his long spiky hair fell towards his face in the notion. They felt surprising soft as they brushed her hand.

"We have to be careful not to ruin those stitches," she said, "I couldn't find any button downs in the donation box unfortunately; it'd be easier."

"No worries," he tells her, grateful as she slowly lifted his arm and one by one help put his arms through the armholes of the shirt. Oswald tried his best to ignore the awareness that coursed through him as Rubi pulled the shirt slowly down his body, her long small hands brushing his naked skin in the process. Even more so as he felt her presence so close as she helped him into the black thick hooded jacket. She was behind him and at one point felt her breath near the back of his neck.

This was such an odd thing for him to experience, having not felt any type of consolation or touch in such a long time—outside of the ministrations of Fish Mooney and his mother. Fish Mooney's touches were one way—it was selfish, mere caresses that she knew would instigate him to please her, and they were fleeting. His mother's were caring and protective—a close hug and a pat to his head as she looked with cherisment as her only son-a thought he didn't want to remember especially as he was certain his mother was in tears and depression over his death at that very moment.

When he was fully dressed, Rubi stepped back.

He watch as a light smile appeared on her lips, and she nodded her head, and made a move to turn around to leave the room.

"I'll leave you be for now," she met his gaze, "I need to talk to one of the Sisters to finalize tomorrow." She headed out the door.

"Thank you..." he said... but she was already gone.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please review to let me know what you think of this chapter. Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hello readers, thank you for taking the time to read my fic and joining me along this journey! It's been a few years since I wrote the outline and the first chapters for this story, and after much thought I've decided to place it in indefinite hiatus. I plan to return with new chapters when my muse strikes, and plan to one day finish this story. In the meantime, check out my completed stories and let me know what you think. Thanks!


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